For One Night Only
by POIJane
Summary: The game is afoot. Again.
1. Chapter 1

It was after midnight when the doorbell rang. Zoe paused for an instant, quashing the flicker of hope seconds after it flared to life, and finished wrapping the towel around her hair. She hung the bath sheet over the towel rack, slipping into a robe so thin it was nearly sheer. The bell rang again as she pulled her gun from its hiding place and padded to the door, looking through the peephole.

Her jaw tightened momentarily, lowering the weapon to her side. She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, an eyebrow quirked as she folded her arms across her chest, her eyes meeting his. He smirked, his gaze wandering over her before lazily meeting hers again. Her heart skipped a beat and she was grateful he couldn't see her physiological response to him.

"Hello, John," she stated without bothering to hide her irritation, "Another long day of saving the world?"

"A rare day off," he responded with a cheeky grin.

"How nice. Do you need something?"

"I wanted to talk. Nice look, by the way."

She glared at him and pulled the towel off of her head, tossing it onto the kitchen island. "Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No," John pushed the door open, entering the apartment, "It can't."

"Goddamnit, John, this isn't funny. It's been a long couple of days and I want to catch up on my sleep."

"You didn't sleep well?"

Her eyes narrowed at his tone and she slammed the door. "No, I didn't. Work tends to make me edgy and I don't sleep well when I'm on the job."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Gee, thanks. Aren't you tired?"

"No, it's something people in my line of work tend to learn—operating on little sleep. That, and the art of sleeping whenever and wherever possible."

His shit-eating grin stirred something in her. She had never denied or attempted to conceal her attraction to him; it was that pull that caused her sleeping difficulties for the last two nights. Their easy banter, the flirtatious undertones to their interactions, that extra night they spent in Far Rockaway, drinking scotch, playing poker, toying with each other outrageously.

They had traded innuendo-laden words, the tension between them growing. He'd felt it too, she was certain. She saw the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't looking, and it made her believe the attraction wasn't one-sided.

There was more than one incident in the few days they spent together that left one or both of them flustered. But it was the look in his eyes when he walked into her room, talking about Graham Wyler, his voice dying as he watched Zoe slowly rise up into a downward facing dog (she was peeking at him through her spread legs), his mouth open and his eyes glazed over. Or their first morning there, when she appeared in the kitchen in a short, black silk chemise with half-opened eyes and tousled hair, in desperate need of a cup of coffee. It was the quickening of her heartbeat when John spoke in that low, raspy voice, wishing her good night. The way he walked around the house late a night, bare-chested and wearing jeans that rode low on his hips and fit him just right. It was sharing a dog, a bathroom and a bedroom wall—he was too close, but not close enough.

Now here he was, having pushed his way into her apartment, his eyes still on her in that short vermillion robe, and she _knew_. She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, for once not looking for an angle or a favor or leverage. Zoe Morgan was throwing caution to the wind, giving in to her desires and telling her selfish, greedy impulses to fuck off.

She rested her hands on his chest briefly, her hands sliding beneath the lapels of his jacket. Pushing it over his shoulders, their gazes locked as it dropped to the floor. He bracketed her face between his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones. Staring up at him, she bit her lower lip coyly, moving closer to him, trailing her nails down his back.

"What do you want, Zoe?"

"Excuse me?"

"What do you _want_?"

"I want whatever we can have. What do _you_ want, John?"

"I gave up wanting things a long time ago. It pulls you in deeper until you believe you can have it all. But you can't. And then life strips away what means the most."

"That's hardly a rousing endorsement."

"It wasn't meant to be. It was a reality check."

"As if I needed one."

He pulled her body flush against his, bringing his lips down to hers. Rising up on tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering at the taste of him. That first kiss had only whetted her appetite for more of him. She pulled away, gasping for breath and crawled up his body. He aided her with both hands, gripping her backside and lifting as her legs snaked around his waist.

"Bedroom?"

"Back there," she said breathlessly, tipping her head. Her lips latched onto his neck, kissing nipping and sucking as he propelled them to their destination. "Jesus, John, stop dilly-dallying."


	2. Chapter 2

Please note the rating changes to M at his point. If you're under 18, get permission from your parental unit, I am not responsible for any mental or emotional scarring you might incur that might or might not require therapy down the road.

"Back there," she said breathlessly, tipping her head. Her lips latched onto his neck, kissing nipping and sucking as he propelled them to their destination. "Jesus, John, stop dilly-dallying."

He released a soft chuff of laughter and playfully nipped her where neck and shoulder meet. Whimpering, her fingers slid up the back of his neck, gripping the base of his skull with all ten fingers, forcing his head up for a long, hot, wet kiss. Both were breathless when it ended and he plopped down on the bed. He stared up into her big dark eyes as his fingers smoothed over her face, down her throat and beneath her robe to the thin skin between her breasts.

"May I?" He stroked the curve of her breast with his thumb, waiting for permission.

"Do you think you'd still have your hand if it wasn't okay?"

Smirking, he untied her robe, parting the silky fabric and pushing it from her shoulders. It landed on the floor with a whisper, already forgotten as John's hands came to rest on her hips. Zoe leaned into him, her eyes searching his. He dragged his hands up, fingers lightly playing over her ribcage, his eyes never leaving hers as she sighed and reached out, touching his face. She whimpered when his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs teasing the nipples.

Impatient, she unbuttoned his shirt and explored his chest, marveling over the scars his exploits had left behind. Briefly touching them with great tenderness, she pulled him into a hug, kissing the line of his jaw. John was stunned by her gentle touches and the brief emotional response she had to seeing them. He pushed that all aside in favor of the here and now, the warm and willing woman on his lap, a woman who had captivated him the moment he laid eyes on her. He didn't keep coming back to her just because he needed her professionally; Zoe stirred feelings in him he hadn't felt since Jessica.

She whispered in his ear, "John?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you not interested in sex or just not with me?"

He gripped her upper arms and pulled her back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression serious. He hadn't hidden his distraction as well as he'd hoped to and she had seen right through him. Unfortunately, she had assumed all the wrong things and he had to fix it quickly. "When I go to bed with a woman, I'm with _her_, not a ghost in a shallow grave."

"The same rules apply here," she murmured, her lips brushing his.

Slithering from his hold, she rested on her knees between his spread legs. She unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped him, smiling impishly as she fondled him through his pants. His hand gripped her wrist, halting her motions, shaking his head in warning. She stood, her fingers splayed on each side of his head, her thumbs brushing his ears as she tilted it up and lowered her mouth to his. As they battled for control of the kiss, his hands wandered up the backs of her thighs, gave her ass a playful squeeze, and moved up to her waist.

She was on her back before she realized it. As they shared long, hot kisses, a hand slid between her legs, his fingers dancing up her thigh. John wore only his dress shirt, which he was grateful of as the manicured nails on one hand clawed at his shoulder, the other cupping the back of his head. Later, he would reflect on her no-nonsense approach to sex and wonder if it was across the board or just with him. The task at hand was to make the cerebral Ms. Morgan completely lose her mind.

He wasn't prepared for her to forcibly flip him onto his back, his fingers slipping from her body. She rose, towering above him, her eyes wild. Tilting her pelvis, she took him into her body, sinking onto him with agonizing slowness. When she was fully seated, she paused, breathing harshly, her head tilted back.

"Zoe?" He whispered gently to her, caressing the length of her spine with gentle fingers.

"Ssh," she murmured, leaning forward. Her hands caressed his chest, fingers toying with his nipples. A sly grin curved one side of her mouth when he groaned and closed his eyes, his hips arching into hers. "Welcome to my parlor, John."

His arms, bent at the elbows and resting on either side of his head, drew her attention. Pinning his wrists to the bed, she began to move slowly, rocking her body against his, adding an occasional twist of her hips that made them both moan. By the time he joined the party, drawing his legs up, bending them at the knees to give him leverage to move, she was already panting and gasping, her body slick with sweat from her exertions. He felt so damn good deep inside her and she wasn't able to keep up the pretense of not being affected by her own desires.

It was an ugly, desperate race to the finish that didn't last very long. Neither had been intimate with another for some time and combined with their mutual attraction, the fireworks went off early and the rest, as they say, was history. Zoe cried out, her head thrown back and grasping his wrists tightly as she gushed, experiencing the longest, strongest release she'd ever had. John groaned her name gutturally, his hands clenched into fists. She collapsed on his chest, panting, as the waves of pleasure began to ebb. Distantly, she felt rather than heard the thump of his legs as they landed flat on the mattress, their gentle grinding stopping altogether.

Slowly, she returned to herself and nuzzled his neck with her nose, breathing in the scent of his sweat and cologne. Wrapping his arms around her, he squeezed her once and released her. When she lifted her head, her smile was that of self-satisfaction, one only a woman who's conquered a man can achieve, and she rolled onto her back beside him. Her head was pillowed on his bicep and he played with her hair as they both silently contemplated the bedroom ceiling.

John cleared his throat and said quietly, "So."

Zoe turned onto her side, facing him, "It doesn't have to mean anything, John. Okay? We're adults and this doesn't have to affect our professional relationship."

He shifted, turning to face her. Carefully, he scrutinized her, feeling slightly irritated when he could not read her. "Do you think this was a mistake? Because I don't and I don't want you to regret it."

She was floored by his honesty and it stirred something in her she thought had withered and died long ago. Tentatively, she reached out to touch his face. "No, I don't."

"Good then." He smiled and kissed the center of her palm. He laced his fingers through hers, sealing it between them.

Smiling slightly, she pulled their joined hands between them, wiggling closer. Planting a gentle kiss on his shoulder, she sighed contentedly and closed her eyes. Watched her lovely face for a beat, he curled his arm up, kissing her forehead tenderly. Lying back, he tangled his fingers in her hair, fingering the ends until he too fell asleep.

The following morning, John awoke alone. Rubbing his eyes, he rolled onto his back, a twinge reminding him of their early morning activities. He sat up, throwing off the sheet, ignoring his nudity and morning wood. He headed directly for the master bath, where he could hear the shower running. Peeking inside, he saw Zoe standing beneath the spray. Looking around, he wondered if she chose the apartment because of the bathroom. The spacious room was black marble. The vanity had a double sink, a large, cube-shaped shower enclosed by frosted glass walls and a separate, oversized tub.

Smirking, he strode across the room, quietly opening and closing the shower door. Snaking an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him, her back pressed to his chest, chuckling at her gasp. She relaxed and swatted his forearm sharply.

"Damnit, John! You scared the hell out of me!"

"That was the point," he chuckled.

"Very funny." Suddenly, she laughed throatily. "All hands reporting for duty?"

"Aye aye, Captain."

"We wouldn't want to get out to sea and find you aren't fit for duty."

She attempted to turn but he held fast, keeping her back pressed to him. "What are you doing?" It was more demand than question.

"Earlier this morning you were in charge. Now, it's my turn."

Lifting her off of her feet, he pivoted so she was facing the wall, the spray hitting his back. Moving her wet hair aside, he kissed the length of her neck and shoulder, his hands cupping her breasts, her back still pressed to his chest. Zoe relaxed against him, humming when he squeezed gently, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck. His hands explored recently discovered territory, a landscape he had only fantasized about until earlier that morning in the soft lamplight. Now he could touch her without impunity, and the reality was far better than anything he could have ever imagined.

He nuzzled her ear as his hand trailed over her stomach and navel, smiling at the hitch in her breathing and tightening of her abdominal muscles as he passed over them to his southerly destination. She gasped at the first touch, her head dropping back, her eyes closing. It was astonishing how wet she was with so little stimulation. This gave him heart, but he wasn't reading into it. Zoe was skittish, unrelenting in her belief that emotion was a weakness she couldn't afford to trade in. Pleasure, however, was another category altogether.

"John!" She gasped, clutching at his forearm, her hips arching into his hand, seeking more.

"Mikey, I think she likes it," he spoke softly into her ear, his tone playful.

A bark of laughter escaped her at his joke and ended in a low moan as he brought his thumb into play, working in concert with his fingers. Whining, she pleaded, "Please, John!"

He pulled his hand from her and entered her gently. Holding her against him, he eased into her, mindful that she was likely tender after their encounter hours before. Pressing her palms to the glass for balance, she pushed her hips back, picking up his rhythm.

Her eyes flew open when his arm gathered her up, tilting her pelvis back slightly, forcing her onto her tiptoes. Their hips met again and at this new angle, she gasped and moaned loudly, involuntarily tightening around him as he found her sweet spot. Releasing the nipple he had been lightly twisting and tugging on with his fingers, he raised his arm, covering the back of her hand with his palm. His fingers slipped between hers and bent without ceasing his slow rocking. She folded her fingers down over his, gripping them desperately and he paused, his lips still pressed to the sensitive skin behind her ear. His gaze moved to their joined hands, Zoe's soft sounds echoing in his ears.

John was unprepared when she suddenly climaxed after he resumed thrusting, as she cried 'yes' over and over. She nearly slipped out of his grasp as she squirmed, drawing out every last bit of gratification. She whimpered as she stilled, lowering her heels to the tiled floor, flexing her fingers as she dropped her head back to his shoulder, her nose brushing his neck. Her tongue traced a protruding vein lightly, teasing him as she ground her hips back against his.

"Zoe," he groaned.

He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, struggling for control. The desire to take her hard and fast was overwhelming, but he had a suspicion that was the status quo for her. The world she moved in wasn't all that different from his, automatic weapons and explosions aside. Usually. It didn't inspire tenderness or warmth; it wasn't the place to find a friend or a companion. Theirs was a once in a lifetime meeting, one both would ascribe as star-crossed and most likely, ill-fated.

"John?" Reaching back, she touched the side of his face. "John?"

"I need to—" He broke off, grunting.

"Jesus, John, what are you waiting for?" She teased, tightening around him.

The second time was as explosive as the first. This time she cried out his name, the feelings he evoked in her exquisite. For the first time in years, emotion welled up in her and the words 'I love you' nearly passed her lips as she momentarily basked in the aftermath of their passion. In that same moment, John came, bathing her insides with warmth, mindless of her rigid body, blinded to the naked terror on her face. While he recovered, feeling much the same as she had before fear held her in its grip, Zoe cursed and berated herself. This was supposed to be a one-off at best; with the curiosity and tension abated, they could stop dancing around each other and move forward. Whatever the hell that meant.

"John," her voice was strangled and she tried to ease from his arms, but he held fast. "John!"

"Huh uh. I know you're feeling anxious right now, but I want you to try to relax and listen to me, okay?" His voice was soothing, hypnotic and a voice in her head screeched at her for obeying his commands. "We're going to clean up. Then we're going to scrounge up something to eat and talk about things."

"Things?"

"Don't talk, don't think. Put that brilliant, cagey mind on autopilot and take it one step at a time."

He released her and Zoe followed his orders, washing her hair and body. Neither attempted to speak, each seeing to their personal business, and while it should have been eerie, she found it oddly soothing to share this with him. She stepped out of the shower first, wrapping a towel around her body and then her hair, retrieving one from the linen closet for John. She handed the towel off and retreated to her bedroom to get ready.

She was fastening her bra when he appeared, the towel cinched around his waist. Momentarily distracted by the sight of his naked chest and the whisper of defined abs, she stopped and watched him as he located his clothing on her floor. As he pulled his pants up, he caught her staring and grinned, prompting her to scurry into the walk-in closet, heat staining her face for the first time in years.

Deciding not to draw attention to herself, she chose a pair of faded jeans, softened by multiple washings. The knees had holes in them she had put there herself, the cuffs stylishly frayed. She chose a black, fitted t-shirt that boldly proclaimed "Shuck me, suck me, eat me raw," a souvenir she had picked up on a whim at a highly regarded seafood restaurant while on a business trip in New Orleans. Rounding out the ensemble was a pair of Timberlands she hadn't worn in nearly twenty years, but refused to part with because of the comfort factor.

She didn't look at him as she exited the closet, making a beeline for the bathroom instead. Combing out her long dark hair, she used the blow dryer and clipped it up. Scrutinizing her reflection, she decided to forgo makeup. This Zoe Morgan could blend in anywhere and was the reason her wardrobe wasn't exclusively designer labels. Being easily recognizable wasn't ideal for someone in her line of work.

Strolling out of the bathroom, she found John reclining on her neatly made bed, channel surfing. _S_o, _the Terminator is a man after all_, she thought wryly, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her eyebrows.

"Are you ready?" He shifted his gaze to her. "I expected an hour wait, minimum."

"To answer your question, yes, I'm ready, smartass."

He rose, crossing the room to her. With a smile, he put his arm out and said huskily, "You look beautiful."

"Thanks." Her voice was flat as she tentatively linked her arm with his. She was distinctly uncomfortable and struggling not to show it. "So, where are we going?"

"There's this great place I know, and I think you'll like it too. It's very quiet and homey."

Sighing, she thought, _What are you doing, Zoe! It was supposed to be just sex, not lovemaking! No extra protection, just the pill? And now breakfast, like you're new lovers hoping to forge a real future together? What the __**fuck**__ are you doing, woman?_

Reese could feel the unease radiating off of her. Stopping at the door, he turned to her. "Zoe, look, we're adults. We're both married to our jobs, jobs that aren't conducive to real relationships. I'm not asking for forever, I told you that this morning. Let's just enjoy our time together, whenever we can be together. What do you say?"

She relaxed considerably and that calmed him. For the first time, she smiled at him. "I say, okay, that's something I'm willing to invest my time in. Grand love affairs and promises of forever aren't my thing. But from now on, we do this safely. No more going bareback for you, buddy."

"Jesus, I didn't even think." John pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're on the pill at least, I hope?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm not exactly young and fertile anymore, either. That is generally non-negotiable, double birth control methods have always been my rule of thumb. I'm just as responsible for last night, so don't beat yourself up over it. I just don't want you to think it's something I do on a regular basis."

"I wasn't thinking that at all." He shook his head and snorted. "It wasn't my plan to come over here last night, for sex, I mean. I was hopeful, I won't lie about that, but it wasn't what brought me here."

"John," she paused and bit her lip, forcing eye contact with him, "I wasn't expecting it either. I don't generally answer my door in that robe. But I've been throwing out signals and you have never acknowledged a single one. Suddenly, there was a knock at my door, and I thought, 'what the hell, let's see what happens'. And I think we should not go out to breakfast. Let's stay in, I'll cook and we can talk."

Wide-eyed, he queried, "You can cook?"

"I'm not just a pretty face. I've got mad skills too."

"Tell me about it."

Smirking, she captured his chin between her thumb and forefinger. "Would you like to share which skills impress you the most?"

One corner of his mouth turned up and he lowered his head, their lips a breath apart as he whispered, "Why, Ms. Morgan, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Nah, I'm just using you for your gun collection," she sassed and rose up, kissing him.

"I thought we were going to eat something," he managed to say between kisses, "I could use some fuel."

"Wuss." She slowly pulled away from him, her big brown eyes inviting as she entered the kitchen. Zoe pulled open the refrigerator door, severing their eye contact. Cheerfully, she said, "I'll give you a moment to think about it."

"I need sustenance, woman."

"Oh, I've got your sustenance."

"A man's gotta eat, Zoe. I did a lot of heavy lifting this morning."

"Right and I just lay there, huh, while you did all this hard work?"

"I can hear your stomach growling, you know."

"Oh, bite me."

"Didn't we already do that?" He winked at her, a sly smirk on his face.

"Hmm, I'll have to return the favor. I never got a chance to play, if you recall."

"I do. Can't wait."

"You'll never forget it." She cleared her throat. "Back to the matter at hand, what the hell do you want to eat?"

"What have you got?"

"Cereal, eggs, hey, I can make you an omelet."

"Okay, sounds great. What else have you got?"

"Toast."

"And?"

"And what? This isn't a restaurant."

"No bacon? Sausage? Is there anything to put in that omelet or is it just eggs?"

"Christ, John. I have some cheese, mushrooms that might be on the iffy side. Uh, there's a green pepper, but it might also be iffy."

"Yeah, you're a regular Julia Child all right. Hey, why don't we order in? We won't starve or get food poisoning."

"No he didn't." She grabbed the pepper and threw it in his direction, hiding her amusement when he caught it. "You tell me, Mr. Picky."

John gently probed the vegetable and pronounced, "It's a little squishy, but not too bad. Cut her open and we'll see what she looks like."

"Why is everything always referred to as a 'she'?"

"I don't know. It's not like I thought it up."

"I'm just asking, you don't have to be a butt about it."

"I get testy when I'm hungry," he admitted, "I'm sorry. And hey, what the hell, you threw a bell pepper at me!"

"Okay, I admit violence isn't the answer."

"And?"

"And...I will attempt to control my impulse to throw things at you."

"Wow, that's nice. I'll remember this."

"Doubt that."

"Oh, you'll see."

"Can't I see now, get that out of the way?"

"No."

"Fine, breakfast. Then you can get the hell out."

"Oh, it's like that? I thought your t-shirt there was the plan for the morning."

"I changed my mind, woman's prerogative."

John entered her personal space, staring down at her. He saw the flush on her cheeks, her dilated pupils, the fluttering pulse at her throat visible. "You like this, don't you?"

"Maybe," she breathed, her chest heaving.

"God, you are full of surprises."

As she went down on him in the middle of the kitchen floor, he leaned back against the island and wondered if he was going to be able to keep up with this woman. Winding his fingers through her hair, he surrendered, finding he would never be able to resist her.


End file.
